Demonic Dragon: Harem System-Chapter 800: Solving the problem of thieves

The inner courtyard resembled a field after a violent storm.

Bodies scattered, muffled groans, makeshift weapons strewn across the ground like broken toys. Some men tried to crawl away; others remained too still to feign anything. The smell of blood mingled with dust and stale sweat, creating an almost suffocating atmosphere.

In the center of it all, Strax sat.

Literally.

He was perched on the back of one of the defeated thieves, who lay face down on the ground, trembling, desperately trying not to move. Strax’s boots, in turn, rested comfortably on the chest of another unfortunate man, used as an improvised stool. The man could barely breathe, but each attempt to draw air made Strax press his foot a little harder, just to remind him who was in charge.

The scene was... wrong.

Not in a moral sense—that had long since passed—but in contrast. Strax seemed too relaxed. One elbow resting on his leg, his chin on his hand, a wide, amused grin plastered on his face.

He looked like a gang leader.

Or worse.

A bully who had just won the playground fight... against hundreds.

Before him, scattered across the stone courtyard floor and the surrounding stairs, were thousands of thieves. Men and women of all ages, members of different gangs, all gathered there by the same shared arrogance: the idea that numbers compensated for a lack of power.

Strax observed the sea of ​​the defeated with visible satisfaction.

"Look at you all..." he said, opening his arms as if presenting a work of art. "All this? It was my fault."

Some looked up, too confused to understand the tone.

"I should have realized it sooner," he continued, sighing theatrically. "You really believed you had enough offensive capability to take me down."

He let out a short laugh. "Pathetic." One of the thieves tried to stand. He barely managed to put his knee on the ground before feeling an invisible pressure crush him back against the stone. The impact made the man scream.

Strax didn’t even look.

"No, no," he said, with feigned patience. "Stay there. On the ground you seem... more in line with reality."

He carefully crossed his legs, still sitting on the other’s body.

"You know what disappoints me most?" he asked, tilting his head. "I had better plans for you."

Some groans ceased. Other thieves, even injured, paid attention.

"I was going to recruit all of you." He raised a finger. "All of you."

He paused, letting the sentence sink in.

"Provide better working conditions. Organization. Defined routes. Real protection." Another finger. "After all..." he smiled, "you’re thieves, you know? It’s practically an unregulated profession."

A murmur of disbelief swept through the fallen men.

"But no," Strax continued, making an exaggerated pout. "You decided to attack me before I even finished explaining."

He theatrically placed his hand on his chest.

"That hurt me." The silence that followed was heavy. Not because they believed him, but because they didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

"Seriously," Strax insisted. "I show up. I talk. I say ’let’s negotiate.’ And you..." he made a vague gesture with his hand, "jump on me like rabid rats."

He snapped his fingers.

The air vibrated.

Suddenly, several bodies began to move. Not walking. Not rolling.

Floating.

Screams echoed through the courtyard as five, ten, twenty thieves were lifted off the ground as if they weighed nothing. Arms and legs swung wildly while Strax watched with evident amusement.

"Look at this," he said, moving his fingers as if he were picking fruit at a market. "Pebbles."

With a casual flick of his hand, he hurled one of the bodies against a side wall. The impact was dry, brutal. The man fell limp, groaning.

Another was thrown to the opposite side, rolling down the stairs.

"You are surprisingly aerodynamic," Strax commented thoughtfully.

"P-please...!" someone screamed, their voice broken. "Enough! Enough!"

Strax tilted his head, curious.

"Already?" He tossed another body high into the air and let it fall back to the ground, just to hear the sound. "I’ve barely begun."

The screams intensified. Some thieves began to plead, others wept openly. The fear was no longer abstract; it was physical, overwhelming.

"Stop!" a woman yelled, trying to crawl away. "We surrender!"

Strax sighed, feigning boredom.

"You always say that afterwards."

He wiggled his fingers again. Two bodies collided in mid-air, crashing into each other before falling in opposite directions.

"Do you know what the problem is with attacking someone without information?" he asked, smiling. "You don’t know when to stop."

"ENOUGH!" several shouted at the same time.

Some began to kneel, ignoring the pain.

"P-please!" pleaded a man with a bloodied face. "Stop!"

Strax observed the scene like an artist evaluating his work.

Then, slowly, he raised his hand.

The suspended bodies froze in mid-air.

A heavy silence fell, broken only by desperate breaths.

Strax smiled.

"All right," he said finally. "I’ll stop."

A collective relief swept through the courtyard.

He calmly rose from behind the thief, stepping onto the ground as if nothing had happened. The man beneath him collapsed, unconscious.

Strax walked a few steps forward, his hands behind his back.

"I’ll stop..." he repeated, "when everyone here swears loyalty to me."

Some swallowed hard.

"And when you stop stealing without permission," he added, turning suddenly. "No more random looting. No more stealing food from children. No more attacking protected caravans."

He pointed to the ground. "You work for me now."

A confused murmur spread.

"W-what choice do we have?" someone asked, their voice weak.

Strax grinned widely.

"That’s the funny part." He snapped his fingers.

Bodies in the air fell all at once, scattering screams and impacts.

"None." He walked slowly among the defeated.

"You can swear loyalty..." he said, passing a trembling man, "or you can remain pebbles."

He stopped in the center of the courtyard. "And I’m very, very good at playing games."

One by one, the thieves began to kneel. Heads bowed. Voices trembling.

— I swear...

— Loyalty...

— We swear...

Strax closed his eyes for a second, feeling the submission spread like a wave.

When he opened them, the smile returned.

"See?" he said, satisfied. "It always works."

The air relaxed. The invisible pressure lessened... But the warning was clear... There was no mercy here.

Strax raised his hand.

Immediately, the invisible pressure returned to touch every body in the courtyard—not crushing, just... reminding.

"Stand up."

It wasn’t a command.

It was a conditioned reflex. Bones ached, muscles screamed, but one by one, the thieves rose. Some staggered, others leaned on each other, but all faced him, forming a disorganized mass of wounded, dirty, and terrified people.

Strax took a few steps back, assessing the group like someone observing newly arrived merchandise.

"Let’s see..." he murmured, placing his hands behind his back.

His eyes scanned the makeshift rows. He began to point, counting aloud, excessively didactic.

"One... two... three..."

Some exchanged confused glances.

"Four... five..." he tilted his head, amused. "Oh."

He grinned broadly.

"That’s thirty-five."

Absolute silence.

"Thirty-five leaders," he corrected himself, tapping his finger lightly in the air. "Thirty-five ’brains’ behind this pile of trash scattered on the floor."

Some swallowed hard. Others widened their eyes.

"Quite a lot of trash, actually," he added, almost cheerfully.

Then Strax clapped.

Once.

The sound echoed too loudly.

"Congratulations."

Confusion.

"From now on," he continued, "you are no longer independent thieves, alley rats, or idiotic opportunists."

He walked slowly ahead of them.

"You are soldiers."

There was a nervous murmur. Someone laughed involuntarily, a hysterical laugh that died quickly. "Soldiers?" someone dared to ask.

Strax stopped in front of the man and inclined his head.

"Yes." He smiled. "Poorly paid so far, poorly trained even more... but that changes."

He took two steps to the side.

"I’ll train you. Soon." He made a vague gesture. "Combat. Discipline. Coordination. Basic things you’ve clearly never heard of."

Some straightened their posture instinctively.

"But before that," Strax raised a finger, "you have a first order."

The courtyard became so silent that you could hear the collective breathing.

"I want..." he opened his arms, "all the thieves in the city."

An immediate murmur erupted.

"All of them?!"

"That’s impossible—"

"The city is too big—"

Strax raised his hand.

The sound died instantly.

"ALL OF THEM." He repeated, with absolute calm.

One of the men in front, still holding his broken arm, mustered his courage.

"S-sir... with all due respect... this is going to be difficult. Many will flee. Others are children, small groups, hiding—"

"A silver coin."

Silence.

The man blinked.

"H-how?"

Strax smiled again, but now there was something sharp behind the expression.

"A silver coin..." he repeated, "for every thief’s tail." 𝙧𝙚𝙚𝔀𝒆𝓫𝓷𝙤𝓿𝒆𝙡.𝒄𝙤𝓶

Some took a second to understand.

Then they did.

The courtyard erupted in murmurs.

"Wait—"

"Tail?"

"You mean..."

"I mean exactly what it looks like." Strax shrugged. "Cut-off tail. Simple proof. Hard to fake."

Some went pale. Others widened their eyes... not in horror, but in calculation.

"A silver coin per thief delivered," he continued. "Alive is better. Dead will do too, as long as they bring the tail."

He began pacing back and forth.

"You know the alleys. The passages. The hiding places." He pointed to them. "You created this network. Now you’re going to clean it up."

"What if..." someone began.

Strax stopped.

The man swallowed hard.

"What if they resist?"

Strax smiled, showing his teeth.

"Then you practice."